


they'll name hurricanes after you (and me)

by maryams



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, I'm not even a little bit sorry, Post-Mount Weather, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:14:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryams/pseuds/maryams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a simple mission to a nearby bunker during a peaceful time.<br/>(the one where Clarke gets mauled and Bellamy loses his shit-- amongst other things)</p>
            </blockquote>





	they'll name hurricanes after you (and me)

**Author's Note:**

> AKA Clarke goes out to restock some supplies, she doesn't come back in one piece. Savage, mutant panthers tend to do that to you. 
> 
> also, i really have a thing for storms. and angst.

He’s a storm the way he rolls into the room. Shouldering his way into the makeshift room (those shoulders were made for more than holding the sky up), his brown eyes were blown angry and rage and somewhere beneath all the turmoil, scared.

“What the hell happened?” He thunders, and Murphy dryly thinks he could hear his bones rattling.

Octavia is the first to approach him, hands on his chest like a wall standing against alone against a typhoon. With the despair and anger radiating off of Bellamy in unsurprisingly Clarke-sized waves, she thinks she might as well be. But she was never one to let a storm knock her down, especially when the storm was named Bellamy (Murphy remembers Hurricane Octavia well; her punch wrecked his jaw like the ocean wrecks a lifeboat.) She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight-- he might dwarf her but she’s a tempest all of her own. He can’t knock her aside.

But he certainly can’t hear her over the roar of his blood against his ears, the pounding of his heart against his chest. He towers over Octavia and his eyes easily find Clarke’s resting form.

He thinks he might drown in the sight of her blood.

There’s so _much_.

Abby’s wearing it, Jackson’s wearing it, even Nyko was wearing it, and it was everywhere-- she was leaving parts of her behind, she was leaving _him_ behind, _no, no no_.

(Somewhere, in the background of the uproar in his mind, he hears Jackson murmur it's over. He thinks he hears Abby choke on a sob. He's too busy choking on his own to notice.)

 

It was just supposed to be a simple mission to a bunker, not even an hour away. She had a gun, had an alliance with the Grounders, had an army at her beck and call, and a radio at her hip, _she wasn’t supposed to_ \--

The world is a cacophony of pain and fear slamming down on him-- wave after wave, he’s underwater and he’s made of cold lead. Down, down, down he sinks and he’s shattering under the pressure. She can’t die, not _Clarke_ , not _yet_. He sees golden (hair) and it looks like the sun, and it looks like everything he’s never said. The sun looks like Clarke and Clarke is his partner, his equal, his everything. He can’t lose her, just like she can’t lose him, because losing her feels like being thrown from space with no dropship, just a free fall. He's only beginning to understand the depths of his feelings for her (he already feels like he'll never find an end to them) and he's already losing- _lost_ her. He’s burning and freezing, his body is on fire but his chest is cold as fuck (he doesn’t want to think of how cold her skin might be).

Things were getting better, Mount Weather was beginning to look like a dark cloud sinking underneath the horizon and people were starting to smile again, _their kids_ were starting to smile again. The kids stopped walking around like they had ghosts on their backs and they even managed to pick up a little fat along the way. He had just gotten around to seeing her in her light again, and she had just gotten around to forgiving herself and letting herself _live_. They didn’t know where they were headed, but they knew they had room for one more lonely soul. They would get there eventually, they had time. They _had_ time.

Now it was up, and the fallen sand was crushing his lungs.

“Bellamy, I’m so sorry,” A voice is murmuring, quiet, against his chest. He feels the voice deep in his rib cage, he feels is echo and bounce around as if searching for a place to sink. Finally, he feels the voice settle somewhere inside of him and he just _breaks_. Like glass, like ice, like a boy who just saw his mother floated and his sister arrested, like a man who just lost his everything.

Arms are around him, wiry and solid, caging him in like they’re supposed to make him float. Without hesitation, like his heart sighed and liquefied, he melts into Octavia’s arm. His arms around her, too and he’s clinging to her like she’s his lifeline and she’ll bring him ashore.

He cries, he can feel the tears pouring from him like molten rock. He’s shaking violently, his body wracked with bellowing sobs, the storm in him turning tides. He can’t help but look up, at his broken princess, and wonder how the hell she got sunk.

_Not Clarke, not her, not yet._

* * *

If he were from another time, thunderstorms might have scared him. But he fell from space and a golden princess needed him on the earth, so he became a storm of his own.

When she died, he only felt alive in the middle of a hurricane, like she’s the downpour and she's trying to hold him again.

**Author's Note:**

> .... sorrynotsorry. i'm trash. i'm evil.  
>  great way to introduce myself to the fandom, amiright?  
> notice my little fob reference? gomenasai, inappropriate timing.


End file.
